


Your Lies Are The Scars On My Heart

by GingerHoran



Category: One Direction
Genre: Broken Hearts, M/M, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 03:48:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerHoran/pseuds/GingerHoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the thing is, he shouldn’t glow at all, because he throws his love out there to every person who accepts, makes them feel like they own the world, like the rivers flow through their fingers and that the stars are glowing, shedding their light just for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Lies Are The Scars On My Heart

The thing is, he looks like an angel, his eyes are an endless starry night, with stars glistening with unshed tears and shining enough to make the moon whimper in all her glory, the sun shines with all his might through his smile. He just glows. He _fucking_ glows and it’s beautiful, a beautiful tragedy.

Because the thing is, he shouldn’t glow at all, because he throws his love out there to every person who accepts, makes them feel like they own the world, like the rivers flow through their fingers and that the stars are glowing, shedding their light _just for them._

Laughter, he’s always laughing like a chime of bells, and it’s like the rhythm of your heart, his voice is like melted chocolate being smothered across your body and you melt, you _absolutely_ melt into his arms. He’s secretive, and you’re suspicious but his voice is like melted butter, hot as it slides down your throat, so you take everything, absolutely everything he gives you, he’s perfect. A perfect _angel._

 _Gold_. You believe his heart is made of gold, but instead it’s rusty, and coppery and _barely_ beating because he’s been hurt, been crushed by the person’s whose eyes shone like evergreen, and he was truly happy and his eyes glowed like sapphires and they clashed exquisitely with the emerald’s.

But his heart was played, as each day the one who he gave his _precious_ heart away too would tear a string off. His heart was delicate, it was a precious paper origami, and every day his lover would tear into that paper, ravishing his love with a lick of his lips, but love is _easy_ ; it’s like breathing so he carried on until his heart was torn beyond repair and he was left on the ground barely beating.

He does _exactly_ the same to everyone else, because love is easy that way, people fall _too_ hard and _too_ easily and they don’t realise that it’s all a trap because you can never truly give away your heart. He’d breathe in their souls, their laughter, and their glowing smiles and he’d bite through their skin, to the blood pulsing in their veins and the marrow in their bones before finally escaping with their heart firmly grasped between his fingers.

There’d be a jar of sorts, a jar where he’d place each and every damaged heart, and he’d often sit beside that jar and gaze upon the hearts still bleeding with the love for him, and he’d know that if they love him he’d be in their heart, but even if they hated him he’d have a part in their minds so in a way it was best. He’d always be remembered.

You see into his eyes, and you see an ocean, a bright blue ocean with lapping salty waves and silver fish gliding through the sea, and its shimmery and you drown, you don’t even try to swim instead you  succumb to his absolute everything, and simply _drown._

Except that’s not was he see, and when he looks into the dated shards of glass all he sees is an emotionless abyss, its dark and its empty, and its dense, like his soul, like his mind, like his _heart._

Your blood is red, and its glossy and thick as it pumps through your veins, he drinks you in and takes in the metallic taste but you don’t mind, because you his, you’re all his. But his blood, it isn’t red, but its green tainted with envy, danger and l, because his love is lost with evergreen, and his wealth is emeralds.

His wings are wilting, and his heart of gold is rusty and barely pounding against his delicate ribcage, but he finds pleasure stealing the hearts of other and keeping them in a dusty glass jar that sits by his bed, because they shine with tears from the moonlight and he caresses them carefully. Because he may not have a heart himself, but he’s the collector of every heart except his own which is lay in the pit of the emerald boys’ stomach.


End file.
